Lockdown: One-on-One (Day #3)

We sometimes make prejudiced and imprudent commitments into relationships,clouded by the flare of newly found ‘love’ we deliberately ignore even the most blatant of flaws.

We over indulge on the pleasure, we drown our voices of reason in the flow of emotion . We forget that combustion doesn’t last forever without consistent supply of oxygen and fuel. When the fire finally dies and reality sets in,we are overwhelmed.
We don’t know how to handle it,so we resent them. We push them away ,we yearn for an escape.

“What did i get myself into?” We often ask.

The truth is ,we didn’t pay attention. Blindfolded by own preconceptions and fantasies; influenced by the surge of rippling thrills, we tiptoed around the shards; we watered the cactus ignoring that in its full bloom, it grows sharp spines . We gave in impulsively, not giving it time to unfurl at a natural rate.

Now that we are sober from the stupor, we are terrified . So we hurt our ‘companions’ in self defence and confusion ,or we sentence ourselves—hobbled with the chains of pity—to misery

Lockdown : The Well (Day #1)

Eleven days of national disaster declared: Day one of national lockdown . Still no running water.
It has been happening for so long nobody ever whines about it anymore . We’ve accepted this ,we treat this ‘crisis’ with casual indifference.

When you open the tap it’ll mimick a hiccup like sound …only a bit more hopeless . This sound is not of complete dryness ,no! Its mocking , like theres something clogging the supply. That sound you make when theres a bubble of vomit stuck in your throat, burning the delicate walls of your gullet.

Nobody ever opens the tap anymore. Theres a well on the outskirts of the slums, so we casually head there. Half the settlement population queued up in a cacophonous convoy of creaking wheelbarrows , with the discipline of foraging ants. We share scooping jugs, buckets; and exchange pleasantries —shoulder hugs, knuckle bumps, handshakes— why not?

The Ministers’ safety measures are not a reality here. We are already victims of a deadlier pandemic ,those ‘precautions’ doesn’t apply to us…we live just outside the invisible walls of a castle called Class, like exiled refugees .

So we raise our fists ,punching the humid air of the wet lands and chant: ‘aluta continua’ in collective condemnation of the end of struggle. And the universe complies. ©